


A Gunshot, A Car Ride, A Breakdown

by great_turkey_calamity



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, TW: Emetophobia, TW: descriptions of injury, but less focus on the getting shot and more on character interaction, henry and alex are engaged, henry cries quite a bit and expresses anxiety, is this another Alex gets shot fic, shaan and Zahra are married but zahra kept her last name, shaan pulls him out of it like the cool male role model he is, thats about it for the cliffnotes lol, tw: gun violence, yes it is thank you for asking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:41:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26250577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/great_turkey_calamity/pseuds/great_turkey_calamity
Summary: May 16th, 2021.A day just like any other.Until Alexander Claremont-Diaz, the First Son of the United States, is struck down by a lone gunman whilst giving a speech at the commencement ceremony for the undergraduates of his alma mater, Georgetown University.His fiancé, His Royal Highness, Prince Henry of Wales, is not handling this information, or lack thereof, very well.
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 18
Kudos: 278





	A Gunshot, A Car Ride, A Breakdown

**Author's Note:**

> Alex getting absolutely kablamo’ed seems to be a trend in fic rn and I didn’t wanna feel left out lol.
> 
> Contrary to my summary this is NOT an inherently sad fic, but proceed carefully if you are sensitive to triggering subject matter. 
> 
> Happy Reading!! <3

_God, keep me strong, or my fear will drive away what little courage I have._

This is what Henry thinks as his plane touches down, and he is escorted by Shaan into a government vehicle. It’s not quite a prayer, more of a plea for some sort of spiritual support in such a terrifying time. He can’t remember the last time he actually prayed. However, he realizes that this is as close as it’s been in years. Miraculously, he hasn’t cried yet, but to be fair, he’s not quite sure what to cry about.

All he knows is that Alex is hurt, and from what he can gather, it’s severe. Shaan has seized his phone, and has refused to shed any light on the situation whatsoever.

“Sir, you need to calm down. Hyperventilating is not going to make the situation any better.” Shaan says in attempt to soothe his nerves, but it sounds strained and on-edge itself.

“Well maybe if I knew what the situation _was_ , I wouldn’t be on the verge of a bloody panic attack!” He quips in response, his own voice breaking at the end, his throat squeezing itself shut. “I mean, my fiancé goes to speak at the commencement ceremony for his old university, and before the day’s even up, I’m being shoved on a plane and told that there’s ‘been an incident’, so _forgive me_ for not remaining poised and level-headed!” He exclaims, his voice rising in volume and beginning to rasp as he continues to ramble, only stopping to catch his breath.

“Sir, I realize how stressful this is for you, and I truly am sorry that I can’t give you explicit information about what’s happened, but I am required to follow very strict protocols, and if I’m being entirely honest, telling you would only cause you to spiral further.” Shaan continues, still attempting to comfort his charge, rather than scolding him.

“Can you at _least_ tell me how bad it is? Should I be bracing myself for the unthinkable right now?” He asks, finally looking to his equerry, scanning his eyes for any emotion that he’s not able to vocalize. They’re steely and severe, but not inherently panicked. He isn’t sure if that’s a good or bad thing.

He feels a squeeze on his shoulder, and the oxygen leaves his lungs. 

“Everything will be alright, Your Highness. I can promise you that much.”

Shaan’s hand lingers there, and he’s grateful. The feeling gives him something to hold on to.

Henry has never been inside a military hospital before. It’s an entirely unassuming building on the outside, not unlike the hospitals he’s visited in the past. It appears just like any other medical facility. 

He can tell why Alexander has been brought here as soon as they enter the doors. The amount of paperwork he has to fill out is overwhelming, to say the least, and the security only rivals what he’s seen at international political summits. It makes him feel sick; just how _badly_ was his partner injured, to be brought to such a place? He realizes it mostly has to do with Alex being a high-profile figure from a political family, but he can’t shake the feeling that something more sinister is going on.

After some thirty-odd minutes of filling out forms and calling staff members to check in and regroup, Shaan finally receives Alex’s room number, and escorts Henry to the elevator. The doors shut behind him, and the button for Alex’s floor is pressed. He’s on one of the top floors, so the ride is a bit longer than anyone would like, which only feeds into Henry’s anxiety.   
  


“He might be in shock, or disoriented when you walk in. There’s also a possibility that he will be panicking, so try to keep that in mind, sir.” 

Henry wants to beg Shaan to tell him what happened, wants to _command_ him to, but it would just be cruel and nonsensical to do so. The poor man’s only doing his job, and there would be no point in asking when they’re so close, especially now that the doors to the elevator are sliding open. 

He exhales, nods, and steps out, lingering in the corridor for Shaan, not wanting to brave these unknown horrors alone. His nails are digging into the skin of his arms, his lips have been bitten sore and raw, and despite the freezing, drafty air wafting throughout the hospital, he can feel perspiration on the back of his neck. The harsh smell of disinfectant is mingling with the strong aroma of coffee, and he’s unsure if he’s about to faint, or if he’s going to vomit. Perhaps both. 

“Sir, are you alright?” Shaan questions, and it pulls Henry back into the present— back into reality. 

“I— I think so, yes.” He decides, although the faith in his own words is rapidly dwindling. “I’m just, well, anticipating the worst.”

“I promised you that everything will be alright, sir. I never break promises, especially not ones made to members of the royal family. Mister Claremont-Diaz will be just fine, I am certain of it.”

“Promise?” Henry asks in a whisper, feeling like a bit of a child as tears sting at the corners of his eyes. Christ, he must look an absolute mess. He’s sure it would be greatly appreciated amongst everyone involved if he had only an ounce of control over his emotions.

“I promise, sir. Let’s get to his room, now. I know he must be very eager to see you.” Shaan assures him, guiding him down the hallway to the very last door on the right. 

Henry locks eyes with Cash, and is unsure of whether or not he should stay or run. 

“How is he?” He asks, eyeing him closely. The hulking teddy bear of a man seems exhausted, physically, mentally, and emotionally. He doesn’t know how much he’s paid, but knows that it certainly isn’t enough. “Where’s Amy?” He asks, a secondary thought. He knows that she holds a soft spot with both Alex and Ellen, and she’s even grown on him in the past few years.

“He’s doin’ alright.” Cash is quick to tell him, and the pressure over him lessens in small increments. “He’s anxious, quick to jump. Still trying to process everything, but he’s fine. Not unscathed, but just fine. Amy’s getting patched up right now, got some cuts and a concussion.”

Henry nods again, processing all of this new information. His nails dig deeper into his skin, and he continues. “Do I even _want_ to know what happened today, Cassius?”  
  


Cash sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face, obviously in some sort of distress. “A gunman made their way onto campus during the commencement ceremony. Alex was giving his speech when they opened fire. A few of our guys got injured, and some students, but there haven't been any casualties.”

Henry doesn’t process anything past the word ‘gunman’, the words all seem so abstract that they don’t even register in his mind. His eyes and throat are burning. He can’t breathe, he feels sick, he—

“Shh, sir, it’s alright. Mister Claremont-Diaz is just fine.” Shaan whispers, pulling Henry into his arms. He didn’t even realize that he was crying up until this very moment, much less that he was sobbing so loudly, that every breath he takes in is a painful, wheezing gulp. He wraps his arms around Shaan as he cries, clutching at his suit jacket so tightly that his fingers are sore and shaking.

This continues for quite some time, Shaan trying his best to comfort Henry in whatever ways he can, muttering short phrases like ‘that’s it’ and ‘there we go’ and ‘let’s get it all out’. Oddly enough, it manages to put his mind at ease, at least enough to get him to stop crying for a few minutes.

“‘M sorry.” He whispers, wiping at his eyes as he sniffles. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me, I—“

“Don’t apologize,” Shaan interrupts, dropping all of the formalities for the time being. “If I were in your position, I would be doing just the same. If that were to happen to Zahra, I would be a wreck. Don’t apologize for having feelings, son, especially when it comes to situations like these.” He finishes, his tone gentle, loving and reprimanding.   
  


Henry just nods his head over and over, inhaling and exhaling deeply, trying to work through every hiccup and uncontrollable gasp until he’s gotten back to some sense of normal. He finally registers the fact that Shaan has called him son; out of everything that’s happened in their time together, starting out when Henry was sixteen, just a young babe putting himself in a man’s place, and leading up until this very moment, he’s shocked that this is what’s made him break character. Shaan’s always looked out for him, always brought him ease and comfort when nobody else could. He only hopes that he can return the favor one day, reach some sort of equivalent to it.

“Are you feeling better, sir?”

“Yes, thank you.” He croaks, over-correcting his posture after having been slumped over for so long. 

“Good.” Shaan replies, soft and warm. “Now, I suggest that you head inside right this second. Ms. Bankston says that Mister Claremont-Diaz has been asking for you for quite some time now, and how would it look if the Prince of Wales weren’t able to oblige such a request?” He questions, clapping Henry on the shoulder.

“Not too good, I suppose.” He replies, laughing despite the panic welling up inside him, taking a few deep breaths. “Would you like me to send Zahra out to see you? To catch up and such?” He asks, hand lingering on the doorknob.

“I think that would be just fine, sir.” Shaan says, and he can finally hear the somber sobriety there, the grave tone and low volume. Zahra was at the commencement, to keep Alex in line after giving his speech; they deserve a quiet moment alone together.

He nods briefly, turning the knob and letting himself in. At first he lingers in the doorway, nobody particularly noticing, too preoccupied with the current scene going down, with Alex sat on the edge of the bed with Ellen and Zahra sat in the room’s two armchairs.

“Mom, _please_ , I am twenty-three years old, I can drink water on my own—“

“Sugar, just let me help you get the bottle open.”

“I don’t _need help_ getting it open.”

“Alexander—“

“ _Mother_ —“

“Just let her open it, kid. Your hands are shaking; you'd probably spill it all over yourself.” Zahra interrupts, settling the dispute. Ellen laughs at her victory, whilst Alex groans in defeat. Still, he accepts the bottle of water with a soft ‘thank you’ and a kiss to Ellen’s cheek— he might give her hell, but he’s definitely grateful to have her right now.

Even if she _is_ hovering a bit.

Henry clears his throat, trying not to divert his attention to the floor when everyone turns their heads in his direction. “Ms. Bankston, Shaan would like to speak privately with you. He’s right outside.” He states, stepping further into the room. 

She gives a firm exhale, nods, and gathers her things as she moves from her chair to the door. She turns back at the last moment, looking to both Alex and Ellen. “Anything you two might need while I’m out of the room?”

“We’ve got it covered, go talk to your man.” Alex replies, taking another sip of water.

“You never rest, do you?” Zahra asks, tone snappy as her face betrays her, lips curling up into a smile.

“Wouldn’t be myself if I did,“ He quips in response, laughing when she sticks her tongue out at him. Everyone’s being a bit more friendly today, a bit more tolerant of his less-than professional actions and attitude. “Seriously, we’re good.”

“Alright, then. I’ll be back soon.”

“Not too soon!”

She rolls her eyes, and she’s gone, shutting the door behind herself. Ellen takes the bottle from Alex’s fingers, twisting the cap back on. 

Henry finally brings himself to look at Alex. The right side of his face is all scraped up. He’s pale, trembling so slightly that one might not notice it at first. His abdomen covered in taped-down gauze on the left side. He can feel tears beginning to pool up in the corners of his eyes, can feel his breath shortening. 

He can’t cry now, not in front of him. Not in front of his mother, who must feel guilty enough as it is. He blinks a few times, taking in a deep breath, then letting it out.

“My god,” He manages to croak, further searching Alex for harm, scanning over him once, twice, three times more.

“‘Alex’ does just fine, thank you. ‘Baby’ is also sufficient.” Alexander jokes, and Henry’s chest tightens.

“Don’t.” He whispers, shaking his head and moving forward. He takes Alex’s hands in his own, and rests their foreheads together, letting out a shaky exhale. “I need you to be quiet for a few seconds, please.” 

Alexander, knowing that his fiancé needs a moment or so to find his footing, complies and falls silent. He hears his mother sniffling in the background, hears rummaging in her purse, the opening and closing snaps of a half-empty powder compact. He’s not sure how long they sit there in silence, or when one of his hands start rubbing at the base of Henry’s neck. Perhaps it’s been a couple of minutes, perhaps a couple of hours. He doesn’t have a current concept of time.

All he knows is that when they separate, Henry’s eyes are red, and it does something funny to his chest, to see him so afraid, to see him so upset. 

“Don’t cry,” He whispers, caressing his face, wiping away stray tears. “I’m okay, see? I’m here, and I’m gonna be okay, sweetheart.” He assures him, feeling grounded by the gentle weight of Henry’s face in his hand; the perfect amount of pressure to pull him out of whatever spaced out mindset he finds himself drifting in and out of. “It really didn’t even hurt that much— scared me more than it hurt.”

If Alex knew that Henry was capable of hearing the truth, then he would explain that the fear and pain were about fifty-fifty. Maybe even sixty-forty, with pain in the lead. When he first went down, the shock was so severe that he only felt tight pressure in his abdomen. As soon as he looked down and saw his injury, he thought he was going to faint. His shirt was starting to stain crimson, and his abdomen was burning. He doesn’t remember what it was like, getting to the hospital. He does, however, remember throwing up and shaking from how overwhelming the whole ordeal was, physically and mentally. He doesn’t dare tell his partner this. He’s crying hard enough already.

“I’m sorry,” Henry apologizes, wiping at his eyes. “I really am. They, uhm, they wouldn’t tell me what was happening, and I was afraid that it would be so much _worse_ —“

“Shh, shh. I know, _mi vida_. I know.”

“Christ, I’m so, _so_ glad that you’re okay.” Henry continues, and lifts Alex’s hand up to his lips, kissing the back of it, then each individual finger. He tries not to jolt as his lips brush against the cold, silver metal band on Alex’s ring finger. “I love you.” He breathes, pulling Alex back into his arms, mindful of his injuries. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

For the first time in several hours, Alexander feels his pulse slow, just a bit.

“I love you, too.”

When June, Nora, and Oscar make their way to the hospital, June and Oscar coming from California, and Nora from Massachusetts, things finally start to settle down. That is, after all of the initial fussing and tears. 

Nora was the first to arrive, naturally. There had been a complete lack of education at MIT; secret service, quite literally, had to pull her out of a class and explain the situation before ushering her into a car and speeding off with her to DC. She wasn’t crying when she walked into the room, but looked as if she would start up if anyone so much as looked at her wrong.

“If you would’ve died, I would have brought you back just to beat your ass.” She had mumbled into Alex’s shoulder as the two of them swayed back and forth. Henry couldn’t help but watch; Nora doesn’t get emotional often. It was captivating to witness, something he knew he wouldn’t be seeing again for quite some time.

June and Oscar arrived much later, as was expected with a cross country flight. June had been at a conference for women in journalism, and Oscar had been at home, resting on his day off. As soon as the news had broke, Oscar and June were placed in separate vehicles, only to meet at the airport and ride together out to the hospital. Both of them had been wearing their emotions on their sleeves, June walking in crying, and Oscar looking downright grim and desolate. They only seemed to be satiated after an endless barrage of affection and questions, which leaves Alex somewhere in the middle of overjoyed and agitated. It was a reunion that was much overdue.

Everyone heads to the White House for the night, aiming to rest and recharge after such an emotionally exhausting day. 

Henry, of course, stays with Alexander, curled up in one of the armchairs next to his bed. He’s taken his jumper off, balled it up and stuck it behind his neck, trying to prevent waking up sore. 

“How long do they want you to stay, again?” He finds himself asking, looking up from picking at loose threads on his trousers. 

“Three to five days, wanna make sure nothin’ gets infected.” Alex responds softly, his eyelids looking rather heavy. “Thank God it’s just a graze— no telling how long I’d be in here if I’d actually got struck.” He sighs, looking up at the ceiling.

Henry’s heart jolts at that statement. He doesn’t even want to consider the state that any of them would be in. Sure, Alex was hurt bad enough, with the graze and the scrapes on his face from collapsing on the steps— had the bullet actually entered his abdomen, this whole situation would be infinitely worse.

“I’m sorry,” Alex whispers, suddenly aware of what he’s said. “Need to start thinkin’ before sayin’ stuff, huh?” He slurs, followed by a yawn. 

“It’s alright, lovie.” He’s quick to respond, knowing that Alex has had a hard day, and that he’s trying as best as he can to work through his emotions and thoughts. “I’m too quick to get lost in the ‘what-ifs’.” He admits. “Are you tired?” He questions, already knowing the answer.

Alex goes to say no, but yawns again before he can get an inch in word-wise.

“I think that’s a yes,” Henry decides, scooting closer to push back some curls that have decided to stick to his partner’s forehead. “You need to get some rest.”

“I don’t wanna go to sleep.” Alex whispers in response, drained and vulnerable.

He feels sympathy pang in his chest; today was traumatic for Alexander, of course he doesn’t want to fall asleep. Hell, he doesn’t even want to fall asleep, on the off chance that his fiancé might wake up and need something in the middle of the night. He can only imagine how he must feel.

“I’ll be right here all night.” Henry coos sweetly. “I won’t leave your side, not at all.”

“Hold my hand?”

“Of course, baby. You don’t even need to ask.”

He scoots forward once again to close the short distance between them, and interlocks their fingers, his hold gentle and loose. Alex still seems to be on edge, so his unoccupied hand shifts into his curls, playing with them and brushing them out of his eyes.

Within a few minutes, Alex is out like a light. His grip on Henry’s hand has let up significantly, his eyelashes fluttering as he snores softly. It’s almost unsettling to Henry, to see him so calm and serene after a day of terror and never ending trepidation. Eerie and odd, but not unwelcome.

He watches over him until his head aches and the pressure behind his eyes becomes too much to endure, finally succumbing to slumber, embracing a much-needed and long-awaited period of dreamless, thoughtless rest.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: @bi-disaster-fsotus


End file.
